Spectacular
by Kuddls
Summary: Why was Alice put into a mental asylum? Because she could see the future, right? Well, who put her into the asylum in the first place? A look at Alice through pre-transformation through her little sister's eyes. Rating due to abuse.


All right, so I'm trying my hand Twilight fanfiction now. This is a one-shot for now, but if anyone wants me to continue it, I could probably do that.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Stephenie Meyers does. I also do not own the song Zak and Sara by Ben Folds.

_She saw the future, she heard voices from inside_

_The kinds of voices she would soon learn to deny_

_Because at home they got her smacked._

**********

As I bounced into the kitchen, I heard voices coming from the sitting room. Daddy and Mary Alice were having another "exchange." At least, that's what Mother called these kinds of talks they had. Daddy never had them with me; with me, he always used nice words and a sweet tone, but sometimes with Mary Alice he would speak to her in menacing, hushed tones that sent a shiver up my spine. I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I crept closer to the room to try to listen to their conversation.

"Daddy! _It_ happened again! I had another vision."

A vision? Of what?

"Mary Alice, how many times have I told you? You do not have _visions_."

"It's really important, though!" my sister persisted.

"If you must delude yourself into thinking such things," Daddy commanded, "keep your _incidents_ to yourself."

"But Daddy, I saw—"

_Slap_.

The collision of skin—on—skin startled me, and I momentarily forgot I was supposed to be hiding so that I would not get caught. I peered into the room to see Daddy, red-faced, standing over a terrified and hurt Mary Alice. A small gasp escaped my lips, alerting him to the fact that his youngest daughter was watching the exchange.

I had never seen Daddy look so angry. "Get. Out. Of. The. Room. Now!" As he bellowed the last word, I scurried out of the room as fast as my tiny legs would carry me.

I never listened to another exchange of theirs again. Every now and then, I would see her sporting a new bruise, though.

**********

Nothing else major happened between the two of them until we met one of Daddy's business partners that June. This meeting was apparently very important. He prepared us all week to act like the perfect, well-mannered daughters of Mr. James Charles Brandon. Mary Alice and I also got brand new dresses just for the occasion.

Things had been going well. Mother made a delicious dinner and we were all enjoying it. The trouble all started when Mother began clearing the table for dessert. Daddy's friend had been asking Mary Alice about her schoolwork, and she got this strange, vacant expression in her eyes. The man tried unsuccessfully to get her attention for several moments before she came back to reality with a petrified expression.

"Sir, I need to tell you something," she said in a low, quivering voice.

"Yes?"

"Well, you—you must walk home or something," she replied. "If you take your car, someone will stop you, break into the car, rob and murder you!"

The man looked as if he was ready to hit her, but Daddy got there first. He grabbed her by the collar of her dress, took her out of the dining area, and firmly commanded her to wait in her room. Daddy apologized to the man profusely, but he did not want to stay for dessert. So, Mother and Daddy made sure he got to his car okay.

After he left, Mother sent me to bed, and Daddy went up to Mary Alice's room. Since our rooms were in the hallway, I heard every hit that he gave her and every piercing scream she let out with each particularly hard punch. I tried to bury my head in my pillow, but I just couldn't quiet the screams.

The next day, the newspaper headline read: **Respected Business Man Gets Robbed and Killed in His Car on Main Street**.

Daddy sent Mary Alice to an insane asylum.

**********

He forbade Mother and me from going and visiting her, but one weekend when he was gone on a business trip, we went and saw her. I was appalled at what I saw.

My sister had always been the lovelier of the two of us. Her straight locks of black hair hung to her waist with a shine and body that most people with straight hair didn't have. Her hazel-green eyes nearly always sparkled with what seemed like other-worldly knowledge and an energy nobody could have imagined from someone of her petite stature. Her figure and creamy complexion were the envy of several women in town. However, when I saw her in the asylum, I saw none of that.

They had shaven her head, and black stubble replaced her beautiful locks. Her eyes were dark and void of all life; she never even looked at us directly when we visited. Her sallow skin hung from her overly-pronounced bones. When we got to her cell, she was lying on the floor screaming that same piercing scream from the night Daddy beat her so badly. Mother called someone to come take care of her, and they got her to calm down after several minutes. We tried speaking to her, but she would just gaze past us, answering all of our questions in a lifeless voice.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"You don't look so well."

She shrugged.

"I'm trying to talk some sense into your father and get him to let you out of here."

"Okay."

"Do you need anything, sweetheart?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Mary Alice, we miss you!"

She shrugged again.

"I love you."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"Okay."

As we left the asylum, I swear I heard her screaming again.

**********

About six months later, we received word that Mary Alice escaped from the insane asylum. While I wondered how my lifeless sister had managed such a feat, I was happy for her; the asylum was slowly killing her. For a long time, I hoped against hope that Mary Alice would come visit me—to say goodbye, if nothing else. I left my window open every night, just in case.

One night, I had a dream that Mary Alice came in through my window. The stubble on her head had grown out a little, so that it looked like she had a short, spiky hair cut. Her skin was paler than it had been, but she looked much healthier. Her eyes, now the color of honey, had the spark of life in them again. She touched me on the cheek—her hand was so cold—and told me how much she loved me. Then she was gone.

When I woke up, the window was closed. For some reason, I never felt the urge to open it for her again.


End file.
